Work Text:
“In ten days,” he accepted. Though, he left the thought unfinished on the first day of February.
Kanon eyed the calendar with a pout, as if it could be swayed with the childish tactic. It could still work on people, he hoped. Even at his age.
Not more than five steps away from the foot of his bed, it hung on the wall. The tenth white square brandished a colorful scented sticker, shamelessly cake-shaped. It was too close by then, squeezing into his heart and taking up all the room.
He shrunk in discomfort. He’s too old to still be biting his nails.
Increasingly, his afternoons and evenings were smudged with intermittent stomach aches and unease.
He didn't think it was sadness, really. He'd started calling it fear.
( anticipation • noun )—
The solution he was supplied. He traced his finger beneath the definition as he was encouraged with a nod.
“It says it's the act of..." he tilted his head, stumped. At his expectant frown, his father laughed lightly.
“Anticipating, yes. All it means is that you’re very excited about your birthday.”
Kanon tilted further. He thought he wasn’t. He’d been secretly wishing that his birthday simply wouldn’t happen, ever again.
“Sometimes big feelings can be hard to put into words. Even if you have a good feeling, it might be too much to handle all on your own. It can get confusing,”
But, Kanon knew excitement. Really well, he’d say.
“It may feel like a lot, but you’re not actually scared. It’s like… Crying when you’re happy. You've done that lots of times,”
But, happiness didn’t bother him. Happiness didn’t scare him.
“This birthday is a big one, but getting so worked up that you can’t sleep is no good,” he hummed, petting the back of Kanon's head.
“I really have spoiled both of you," he shook his head fondly. "Your birthday will be here before you know it. You just have to be patient,"
Yet, when Kanon was left alone to churn, he didn’t feel very excited.
He drew crooked lines through each day with his trembling hands. Even if they wouldn't stop, they were surely happy tears.
Anticipation... Maybe so. Though he still insisted on calling the overwhelming nausea a tummy ache.
Kanon skipped across the small pavilion, spotting Shiro. He stood at the opposite end, waiting with his back turned. He stumbled as Kanon ambushed him with a hug.
“You’re not tiny anymore, you know!” He said with a laugh, nonetheless.
Kanon shouldn’t argue with the truth, and he didn’t get to. Shiro pried him away, holding him by the shoulders. He assessed him with a furrowed brow.
“Not you too…” he complained, though the light clap to Kanon’s back was congratulatory. “You got taller since I saw you last,”
His smile plunged into a grimace, unconsciously. “Really? You can tell?”
“It's impossible to miss,” Shiro shrugged. He darted his hand between their foreheads for further example. “That’s so not fair,” he huffed, tapping Kanon up the nose.
A mere four centimeters lower.
“I can live with Nao somehow being taller than me. But at this rate, you’re gonna tower over me.”
“No,” Kanon said with distress. “I don’t want to be taller than Shiro!”
“You won't be. I don't plan on losing twice,” he grinned. He put his fist to Kanon’s shoulder, trying to brighten his deflated expression.
When Nao arrived, he called to them from across the pavilion. He accepted their hugs at his sides.
“Good afternoon,” he said cordially. He pulled a small white box from his shoulder bag. “This is for you, Kanon. Happy early birthday!”
His contact lenses would still take getting used to. Shiro quickly cut through the lull with a scoff.
"Hold on, don’t start thanking him yet, I got you something too! You just distracted me,”
With familiar cheer and easy gratitude, he accepted their gifts. The three of them sat, and everything was going to be fine.
“I don’t want to wait,” Kanon mumbled, as conversation slowed. Downbeat, he lightly shook the boxes together.
“It's cheating to open presents before your actual birthday,” Shiro chipped in.
“Actually,” Nao moved in to soften the blow, but hesitated. “Well, since neither of us can come to your party this year, I think it’ll be nice to open them. Since we're here, together...”
Kanon flattened his lips and nodded quickly, trying to ward off any pangs of dread.
Jolted from sleep, he burst into tears. His nightlight twinkled gently in the dark. On the outskirts of its light, the lowest row of the bookshelf confronted him.
“You love your birthday,” everyone said, in a joyless dream.
Despite his dizziness, he crawled across his floor to the bookshelf. He pulled the photo album from its special spot. He did love his birthday. The hardcover collection of photos wearing a thin layer of dust was a testament. The memories were declared proudly on the front to be the best days ever.
He fumbled through the thick pages, wincing at every picture, every patch of glitter, and especially at his handwriting in the margins.
Birthdays are the funnest! Kanon wants to have birthdays forever and ever!
His guts twisted, staring at the words on the last occupied page.
“Just one year ago,” he whimpered to himself. He couldn't chew at his fingertips, then guarded by bandages dotted with cute animals.
The morning after his thirteenth birthday, he woke up early. There were too many fun photos to glue down to waste time tossing and turning in bed. He whined relentlessly when his father insisted he should eat breakfast before he started scrapbooking.
He needed a lot of help cutting up his food. He dressed himself, though he wasn’t yet used to it. He put his shirt on inside-out.
Kanon shut the album without affection. With shallow breaths, he shoved it back where it belonged. The same unsolved reflex told him he was trapped. Paralyzed, he sat staring at the spine of the memento, a whole minute after casting it away.
“Kanon,”
He bristled at the soft but urgent voice. Tears threatened to replace the fear. Through a shudder, he tried to speak, and nothing came out but a hiccup.
“Are you upset?” His father crouched to the floor, with a concerned murmur.
Kanon easily coiled into his arms, his own fastened around the hysteric heartbeat in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t like anticipation.
The man hushed him with sympathy, unsure of a solution. “Do you have a tummy ache?”
Kanon only folded in on himself tighter. He stumbled through the grief and his father held him close, wearily wiping away tears with his thumb.
“I don’t want to,” was all he could manage to say.
When he ran out of tears, he planted his face into the sleeves of his pajamas.
“...What is it you don’t want to do, Kanon?”
Tie his own shoes. Spread his own jam.
He can't grow up. He can't not be cute anymore. What good is he if he’s not cute? Then, he might only be burdensome.
“I thought you loved your birthday,” his father sighed quietly.
Kanon knew he did, at some point in time. He hesitated, as if he were lying through his teeth, anyway.
“I do,” he squeaked miserably, voice jagged like Velcro. It continued mocking him as it fell apart all over again.
Looking in the mirror wasn’t easy.
His confidence was not helped with yet another sleepless night. Steeped in bad dreams and perturbed ache, he reluctantly dressed himself. He double checked all his buttons, and toed into his slip-on shoes. Tugging a white vest over his ensemble, he did try to spin on his heel with a well-practiced smile.
He stopped short as he met his own eyes in the glass. Suddenly, he was very conscious of how tall he was getting to be. Not tiny anymore.
But, his cake will be just as big and sweet. It might look less big, now that he is much taller.
But, more candles only means more pretty little lights dancing across his eyes. He will open gifts. He will thank his family and friends from the bottom of his heart, the same way he has before. He'll beam and it will be brighter than last year. There won’t be room for any other thought.
Kanon Himeno is still cute.
He wondered when that stopped sounding so certain.